


Bezrel's Book

by Zalphon



Category: Arphasia's Curse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 14:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17082362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalphon/pseuds/Zalphon
Summary: An unscrupulous merchant sells a grimoire to a rather ambitious mage.





	Bezrel's Book

**Bezrel’s Book**

_By Lord Parunis_

 

The breeze blew the autumn leaves on the edge of Freeport as Bezrel walked towards the rundown city.  It wasn’t so long ago that Freeport was considered the crown jewel of Western Otolier, but those days were long behind it, not that Bezrel much cared for such things.  He was a wanderer by nature and a procurer by trade, at least, that’s how he liked to look at it.  Most people just called him a thief, but that was such a nasty word for such a nice man, so Bezrel decided to ignore it and substitute his own.  Most people didn’t notice, because most people didn’t know him for more than a day or two.  That’s just how his life went.  You come into town, you sell your wares, procure more wares, and it’s off to the next to continue the cycle—a mighty fine cycle according to Bezrel, I might add, but Bezrel was not the smartest of fellows.  A very good procurer to be sure and most certainly savvier than the next man, but his education was not without gaps in the sense that he simply didn’t have one beyond how to procure and how to haggle, but he didn’t mind.

 

He walked into the cobblestone streets and smiled as the salty air of the ocean hit him in the face.  It had been a long time since Bezrel had come to Freeport and he enjoyed no place more, for no place had more stupid people waiting to be conned.  Except maybe Saridon, but Bezrel had never been to Saridon, so how could he have known there were more stupid people there waiting to be conned?  He couldn’t, which is why he came to Freeport. 

 

Well, Bezrel began his usual peddling of wares.  Most of it was pretty looking junk that he had lifted off of equally stupid who had been conned into buying it in the first place, but that didn’t stop him from spinning great tales of how this maple-wood bowl would fill with gruel each and every day or how this vase would spill water eternal if only you spoke a certain word (that he did not know).  But for all of Bezrel’s embellishment, there was one item of true value that he had stumbled across.  A grimoire that he pawned off on some schmuck thinking himself a mage.  Bezrel didn’t know the book actually had power and the schmuck thought himself powerful enough to control it.  They were both idiots and for that, I am grateful.

 

You see, the Schmuck thought himself able to command a demon.  I can not fault him for his hubristic arrogance because we were all young and stupid once, fortunately, not as stupid as he, but sometimes you get a bad draw when it comes to brains which this kid most certainly did get.  He took Bezrel’s book and ran home as fast as he could and immediately started perusing the pages of esoteric text.  To be honest, I never really understood the mortal fascination with long-winded incantation and interpretive dance to make magic.  It’s really not the complicated, but what can you do?  They’re an entire race of schmucks who think everything needs long drawn out ritual for anything, hence why they court each other for an extended period of time before mating as if that somehow changes the nature of their act—real group of schmucks those mortals are.  Can’t say I’m a fan at all, but what does it matter?  They’re free to be whoever they want to be and they choose to be schmucks. 

 

Anyways, this schmuck goes through all of this text and starts reading the biographies of different demonic entities such as myself and says to himself, “Why good golly, I have the most delightful of ideas, I do declare!  I’m going to summon a demon!”  And by the Black Council, this schmuck actually did summon a demon.  He summoned me. 

 

Now I will admit, I was impressed by both his gall and his skill.  It’s not often you find someone with both the skill to conjure me of all demons and the lack of brains it takes to actually consider summoning me, but there I was before this schmuck.  And let me tell you, this schmuck was the iconic finger-wriggler schmuck.  Pale, flabby muscles, skinny, looked a little sickly (which makes me wonder if his running was really more slow jogging intermixed with being hunched over trying to catch his breath), and dressed in some ridiculous robes.  Honestly, you envision a schmuck who thinks he knows how to do magic and you’ve got this one.  Let me tell you, I wasn’t sure what to say to him, but thankfully, he knew how to sweet talk me.

 

“Lord Parunis, Knower of All That Is Profane, Professor of the Infini—”

 

I couldn’t let the Schmuck go on.  He’d be going on for twenty minutes with all the titles I’ve accrued throughout my immortal existence.  Honestly, it’s not hard when you’ve been around as long as I have, but that’s not the point.  This schmuck was going to ramble my ear off for a good twenty minutes when I have perfectly good things I could be doing with that twenty minutes (like reading or perhaps working on my unfinished novel).  I had to stop him.

 

“Listen here, puny mortal,” I said in my most intimidating voice before I looked at the Schmuck.  His pants were wet a small puddle of yellow was forming at his feet.  I couldn’t help but sigh as I looked at the Schmuck whose aroma would not be offending my nostrils more than it already did (hint to wannabe summoners: cheap cologne does not impress us).

 

“Listen Schmuck,” I asked. “Do you need something?”

 

He looked up at me with fear in his eyes, “I—I—I don’t want to die, Lord Parunis.”

 

I looked at him and tilted my head.  This schmuck really thought I was going to kill him—like he was worth the minute amount of effort it would take to make him turn into nothing.  He probably was.  He seemed like a nice enough schmuck, but I didn’t feel like killing him.  To be honest, I almost pitied him.  It must be difficult having bladder problems in the sight of the beings you conjure.

 

“So you summon me, seeking a way to escape death?”

 

This schmuck nodded fast and didn’t say a word.  “Listen, you’re going to die—sooner or later.  You’re mortal.  It’s part of your nature.  You’re born.  You live.  You hopefully mate.  And then you die.”  I would usually not add the hopefully, but for this schmuck, it seemed especially necessary.  Any female schmuck who would mate with this schmuck would be doing a service that deserves the highest praise of all, because honestly, this schmuck was hopeless in that regard.

 

“But I don’t want to die.  Please, there must be a way.  I could become undead—that’s possible, right?”

 

“It certainly is, Schmuck.  But do you really want to live forever?”

 

“Absolutely, I do!”

 

“Well Schmuck, then I advise you go east to Aristos and search for Laris.  There you will find your salvation.”

 

And so the Schmuck packed his bags and began the journey to Aristos and subsequently Laris.  He died on the second day of his journey when he was ambushed by bandits who had gotten word of a mage matching the Schmuck’s description carrying a priceless artifact on him.  I suppose I shouldn’t have spoken so loudly about it in the roughest tavern in Freeport, but what can I say?  It’s not my fault he summoned me.


End file.
